


The Cuddle Sutra

by strawberrysunflower



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrysunflower/pseuds/strawberrysunflower
Summary: It’s taken the better part of ten years for Dan and Phil to figure out the best position, but they’re pretty sure that by now they’ve perfected the art of the cuddle.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 133





	The Cuddle Sutra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ahappyphil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahappyphil/gifts).



> You can blame Keelin for this nonsense lmao. Thank you for being lovely and for putting up with me badgering you in your DMs to talk about how these idiot boys are physically affectionate with each other 💕
> 
> This story is based on the actual Cuddle Sutra, and uses positions/sections from the book itself - [ check it out if that’s your thing!](https://snugglesalon.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Cuddle_Sutra.pdf)

**_Lean Two _ ** _\- One leans in and rests on the armrest of the couch. Your legs are bent comfortably at the hip and knees. Your partner is leaning over in the exact same position, resting against you and tucked up next to your legs. You may be tempted to reach your arm around their neck to cradle their head, but this will put you both in an awkward, uncomfortable position._

Picture this: you’ve spent the better part of the day being unnecessarily physically affectionate to the boy you’ve developed a mammoth-sized crush on. You hugged him hard enough for him to make a pained _‘oof’_ noise in your ear. You clawed and scratched at him, and pretended to bite his forearm more than once, and he just laughed and slapped you away. He even kissed you, high up on the Wheel of Manchester, which is still mind-blowing to think about. Where do you go from there?

Phil blinks at the television, eyes trained on whatever late-night nonsense they’ve stumbled upon on Channel 4, even though he isn’t taking any of it in. He’s too focused on the sensation of Dan’s body near his, not _quite_ touching, but close enough that there’s definite energy radiating from every pore on his skin. 

He’s not sure what proper sofa etiquette would be in this situation. What he wants to do is throw himself at Dan and sprawl over him, wrap his arms and legs around him, _glomp_ him, as much as that term sets his teeth on edge. He can’t remember the last time he properly cuddled someone, drunken embraces with Jimmy or the occasional hug with his mum notwithstanding. 

It almost itches in his limbs sometimes. That desire to curl his arms around someone, to hold and be held, to feel warm and wanted by another person. He’s desperate for that with Dan, but even though they’ve been so physical with each other all day, caught up in the whirlwind of meeting for the first time, everything feels different now that they’re sat on Phil’s sofa together.

They’re like two awkward teenagers from the 1950’s out on their first unchaperoned date, sat ram-rod straight and uncomfortably formal, with distance between them like they’ve been told to save room for Jesus. It’s not the way Phil normally sits on the sofa when he’s on his own. He likes to slouch out, his long legs taking over every inch until his dad tuts and complains about him making the place look untidy.

Phil huffs. Dan’s hand clenches and unclenches where it’s resting on his knee. Almost as if he’s worked up with the idea of draping himself over Phil too.

So, very slowly, Phil opens up that possibility. 

He shuffles over until he can lean against the arm of the sofa, resting his elbow against it, and tucks his absurd legs up beside him. He’s automatically more comfortable, can feel the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little. And although he keeps his eyes on the TV - it looks like they’ve switched onto a documentary about swingers, which is both mortifying and hilarious - Phil can feel Dan looking at him, as if surveying this new situation.

Then he moves. It’s tentative at first, like he’s scared of frightening Phil off, but eventually Dan shifts himself into the gap between the back of the sofa and the well created by Phil’s bent legs. He rests his elbow against Phil’s hip, and that’s when Phil turns to smile at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Dan repeats, a laugh tickling his voice. He curls his own legs up, so that Phil could press his mismatch-socked feet against Dan’s knees if he wanted to. So he does. Fuck it.

The energy’s changed. There’s still apprehension there, but it’s easier to deal with somehow. It’s more exciting, like they’ve finally crossed the first hurdle in their interactions with each other. It feels only natural for Phil to start trailing his fingers up and down Dan’s forearm where it’s resting against his side, and he giggles when Dan shivers involuntarily and pinches the exposed bit of flesh on Phil’s hip.

It’s not quite enough for Phil. But it’ll do for now.

\---

 **_Spooning _ ** _\- You both lie on your sides facing in the same direction so that your bodies are aligned. This is most easily achieved when the taller partner is in back. The back person hugs the front person with their hands meeting at the front person’s chest. With bent hips and knees, your bodies conform to one another, fitting perfectly together._

This is supposed to be the pinnacle of physical affection in relationships. Phil’s had dreams about it, love-sick and lonely back when he and Dan were so far away from each other; one day they’ll be able to stretch out on their own couch, put some embarrassingly nerdy show on the TV, and spoon each other the way people in love are supposed to.

Phil hates it.

In bed it’s fine - there’s enough room there for them to cuddle up chest-to-back or sprawl out depending on what they feel like. Half the time Phil doesn’t even register it. He’ll go to sleep facing away from Dan, and wake up in the morning attached to his back like a limpet, arms draped over his waist and face smushed into his shoulder blade, as though he’s been drawn to him unconsciously during the night. It makes sense. Now that they finally live together, all they seem to want to do is bury themselves in one another, as if making up for all the time lost to long-distance.

But, as much as it pains Phil to admit it, spooning on the sofa just does not work.

He’s tried being the little spoon. It makes the most sense - Dan has an inch or so of height on him these days, and he’s sturdier than Phil’s gangly form, so theoretically it should work. Sometimes Phil leaves the kitchen after washing up the day’s dishes and sees Dan sprawled out across the sofa, so he flops down in front of him and presses his back up against Dan’s chest. It’s nice at first, even if Dan huffs and complains that he was perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much. Dan’s arm is a pleasant weight around his waist, and there’s something comforting about feeling his heartbeat against his back and his breath tickling his ear.

But Phil fidgets too much, and doesn’t know what to do with his own stupid noodle arms, and Dan whines that he can’t see the TV properly, and eventually they just have to sit up and admit defeat. Maybe spooning on the sofa is just not for them.

Phil is many things - awkward, anxious, a bit sensitive, a big scaredy-cat which Dan likes to take advantage of - but one thing he _isn’t_ is someone who gives up easily. So one night, spurred on by stubborn determination, Phil lounges out on the sofa, switches on some old reruns of _The Office_ , and calls out to his favourite cuddle buddy. 

“Dan!”

“What?” Dan yells back from his room, where he’s probably editing his newest video.

“C’mere.”

There’s a definite loud sigh, and then the bangs and thumps of Dan forcing himself into the living room. He peers down at him and ruffles one hand through his hair, which is starting to go curly from the amount of times he’s messed with it today.

“What do you want?”

Phil grins, holds his arms out.

“Come cuddle with me.”

“Why?” Dan says, but he’s laughing now, that lovely rosy patch on his cheek flushing like it does when he’s pleased. Phil shrugs, makes grabby motions with his hands.

“No reason. I’ve just missed you.”

“Neither of us have left the house all day, Phil.”

“I know. I don’t mean it like that.”

Dan sighs, leans his weight on one leg. Phil knows that he knows what Phil’s referring to: the emotional distance that flares up between them sometimes, on the days where Dan speaks in one-word sentences and hides himself away in his designated space. Phil doesn’t say it to make Dan feel bad. Just to remind him that, even on the low days, he’s still here. 

Dan gives in. He collapses down onto the sofa in the gap that Phil’s created, squirms around until he’s in a comfortable position resting against Phil’s chest. Thankfully Phil’s seen _The Office_ enough times to quote episodes line-by-line, because he can’t see a thing over Dan’s shoulder. Instead he focuses on the warmth of Dan's torso pressed up against his stomach, and the smell of body wash and sweat culminating in the spot where Dan's neck meets his shoulder, and the softness of his hair as it tickles Phil's nose. He takes a few silky strands into his mouth, tugs gently with his teeth. Dan wriggles in his hold. 

“Are you eating my hair?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s gross, you big sheep," Dan whines, elbowing Phil in the ribs. Phil just hums, amused, and kisses Dan's exposed neck. He simply has to when it's right there in front of him, _tempting_ him. 

“Mm, I can’t help it. You’re just so delicious.” 

Phil bites down, because he is just one man and Dan’s skin is so soft and smooth, begging to be tasted. Dan makes this little whimpering noise in the back of his throat, and when Phil traces his hand down Dan’s stomach and slides the tips of his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants, Dan shifts his hips seemingly on instinct.

“Hey, now. I thought this was supposed to be a PG rated cuddle.”

Phil hums. “Fair enough.”

He stops peppering kisses against the tanned column of his throat, and moves his arm so that his hand rests against his chest - a much more family-friendly spot. But the damage is already done. Dan squirms, blows his hair out of his eyes, shifts about so that his arse is more firmly pressed against the front of Phil’s jeans. Phil can only giggle and bury his face once more in Dan’s long hair. 

“Don’t laugh at me, you evil little shit, you started this,” Dan huffs, sounding all hot and bothered. He digs his blunt fingernails into Phil’s forearm and guides his hand back down to where he wants it to be. “So you’d better bloody finish it.”

Maybe spooning isn’t all bad after all.

\---

 **_Sardines_ ** _\- You both lie on your backs at opposite ends of the couch so that your legs run the full length of your partner’s body and your feet fit snugly in your partner’s underarms. Depending on your heights and the length of your couch, you may need to sit up a bit to make this work perfectly for you._

“Philip.”

“ _What?”_

“Move. Your fucking. Legs.”

“Piss. Off.”

Dan grumbles and squirms, knee knocking into Phil’s stomach with such force it almost winds him. It’s cold in London; it’s supposed to get down to minus figures tonight, and there’s the slim promise of snow tomorrow morning. Or, more likely, the slim promise of grey wet sludge. That is one of the things Phil misses about the North: proper winters with proper decent snow. They’ve only been in London for a year and a half, but Phil knows by now that all winter can offer here is endless sleet and biting winds.

Because of the cold, and because their boiler seems to be on the blink again, Dan and Phil are stretched out like bookends on the sofa, Dan’s big faux-fur blanket throws out over the top of them. They’re trying to catch up with _Attack on Titan_ but failing miserably because they can’t stop bickering about where each other’s ridiculously lanky limbs are positioned.

“You wanted me to sit here!” Phil complains, retaliating against the knee in his gut with a gentle kick to Dan’s ribs. “You said, and I quote, ‘come snuggle with me so that we can share the pimp blanket’.”

“I did not say ‘snuggle’, don’t fucking lie. And anyway, that was half an hour ago. Now I’m too hot and I need to _stretch_.” As if to further illustrate his point, Dan wriggles his legs with such force that it sends the blanket flopping to the floor. He morphs from a twenty-two year old to a literal toddler right before Phil’s eyes when he whines, “I want to be _long_ and your big bastard body is taking up all the room.”

“Maybe I want to be long too. You ever thought about that, buster?”

“You don’t _deserve_ to be long,” Dan huffs, stretching out and pointing his toes to poke Phil directly in the nipple. “How about you go make me a nice cup of tea instead, yeah?”

“Oh, right, sure. Would you like me to stick a broom up my arse and sweep the floor while I’m at it?”

Dan throws his head back and a screech of loud laughter fills the room. He catches his fingers around Phil’s ankle and gives his leg a gentle pull. “That’s not a real saying, fuck _off!”_

“It _is_ real,” Phil says, giggling now too because Dan’s laughter is downright infectious. “My granddad says it all the time.”

“Right, so it’s one of your weird Northern things.”

“Your mum’s a weird Northern thing.”

“Uh, _your_ mum’s a weird Northern thing.”

Phil laughs, slaps at Dan’s shin. “I’ll tell her you said that, you little rat.”

Dan squirms, but he’s grinning now rather than pouting like a petulant child, so it’s an improvement. He lets out a long, hard-done-by sigh and strokes his hand up and down Phil’s calf, blinks those big brown eyes at him from the other end of the sofa.

“Go on, Phil. Light of my life. My one and only.” He flutters his long lashes and flashes a smile at him like butter wouldn’t melt. “Go make me a nice cup of tea.”

“ _No_. You’ll have to prise this sofa from my cold, dead hands.”

Dan pulls a face and shakes his head, as though struggling to make any sense of Phil’s ramblings. But he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he plays nasty. Dan tightens his fingers around Phil’s ankle, angles his foot so that the bottom is well within view. _Smirks_ at him.

“Don’t you dare,” Phil warns, giving his leg a nervous, experimental tug, but Dan holds on fast. And then, with all the force of a secret agent trying to torture information out of someone, he tickles Phil’s foot mercilessly, despite the screams and shrieks and desperate kicking Phil unleashes on him. It only ends when Phil launches his body away from Dan with such force he ends up toppling onto the floor, bruising his tailbone on the way down.

“Ow,” he wails, breathless from the onslaught of tickling fingers and the jolting pain up his spine, but he’s snickering too, his stomach hurting with it. Dan’s bent double, wheezing with silent hysterics, but when Phil staggers to his feet he reaches out for Phil’s hands and pulls him closer so that he can press a small kiss to his hip.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Dan says, although he can’t get his words out because he’s still giggling to himself. “You can have the sofa, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want it anymore, not now you’ve broken my whole back,” Phil replies, but he squeezes Dan’s hands. “Go on then, you horrible long worm - regular tea or one of your fancy fruity ones?”

\---

 ** _The Husband_** _\- One lies on their side with legs bent at the hips and the knees. Your head is resting on your bottom arm and a pillow, and your upper arm is resting comfortably in front of you. Your partner fits perfectly sitting between your arm and legs, using your body as support. You are free to fall asleep while your partner watches TV, reads a book, or works on their laptop._

Phil is pretty sure he’s dying. Death is one hundred percent coming for him - he can almost imagine its big, dark form looming over him where he’s lying crashed out on the sofa, although he doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes and check.

The pain in his head throbs again, and Phil can only groan and press his hand harder against his closed eyes. God, he feels rough. The migraine started some time after breakfast, pulsing at the base of his head while he worked on the latest gaming channel video until he physically couldn’t bear looking at blue light anymore without wanting to cry. Now the headache has moved to right behind his eyes, thumping with the sort of pain that sends nauseating jolts down his spine and through his limbs. 

Phil hates it when he gets like this. It makes him feel stupid and sick, unable to move or be productive for the rest of the day because no amount of painkillers seem to touch it. Most of the time Dan turfs him off to lie down in bed, brings him beans on toast or something equally bland and light for tea, and leaves him there until the next morning when the pain has receded to a dull, residual ache and he can stand without feeling ready to keel over. Today is so bad, however, that Phil isn’t sure he’ll be able to get off the sofa. 

There’s movement in the flat; Dan’s slow, heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs, as if he’s paying attention to something else other than walking from one floor to the other. Phil can hear the tinny sound of a video being played off a laptop, not quite loud enough to cause him more pain, but enough for it to set his teeth on edge. Suddenly, there’s the sensation of a body dropping down to sit on the sofa, right in front of Phil’s torso.

“Oh _fuck_!” Dan yelps, and Phil winces, then peers up at him through gluey eyes. He’s got one hand clutched to his chest, and the other gripping his open laptop by the base. “Sorry, bub, I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t even know you were there.”

“S’fine,” Phil mumbles, rubbing his fingers against the spot between his eyebrows in some attempt to quell the intense ache. “I get that a lot.”

Dan hums and reclines so that his back presses against Phil’s stomach. “If it’s any consolation, you’re quite a comfy cushion.” He frowns then, as if seeing Phil properly for the first time. “What’s up with you?”

“Migraine.”

“Again? Mate, that’s the third one this month.”

Phil can only hum at Dan’s concern, eyes fluttering shut again because they’re becoming too heavy to hold open. A big, cool hand presses against his forehead, and it’s like heaven. Phil lets out a grateful sighs, leans into Dan’s touch.

“Don’t you think you should be in bed?”

“Can’t move.”

“Right. D’you want me to leave instead?”

“No,” Phil answers truthfully, tucking his legs up so that his thighs bracket Dan’s on one side, his arms on the other. “Stay. This is nice.” 

Dan chuckles, pushes his greasy hair up off his forehead. “Okay. Let me know if I need to turn the volume on this video down.” 

But he doesn’t, because the combination of Dan’s furnace-like heat pressed against his queasy tummy, and his fingers combing absently through his hair, and the soft chatter of whatever he’s watching on his laptop is enough to soothe Phil into the sleep he’s been so desperate for. In fact, for the first time all day, Phil feels content. Warm. Safe.

At least, for a little while. Then Phil jolts awake with the startling realisation that Dan leaning against his bladder is going to result in an unwelcome accident if he’s not too careful. 

“Move, get off me,” Phil rasps, delivering urgent little slaps to Dan’s bicep to push him away and extracting his legs from behind him.

“Fuck, okay, alright,” Dan babbles, standing up in such a panic that he almost drops his laptop to the floor. “What’s up? Are you gonna puke?”

“I need a _piss_ ,” Phil hisses, and even talking about it is making his stomach cramp in anticipation. Dan blinks at him, then his face splits into a wide, amused smile.

“Charming. We were having a lovely, tender moment there and your old man bladder ruined it.”

Phil can only raise his middle finger in retaliation, because he’s too focused on his mad dash to the bathroom. 

\---

 **_Breakfast in Bed_ ** _\- One person lies on their back and the other lies face down directly on top of them like two pancakes, resting their head on their partner’s chest. Once in place, there are any number of options and variations to this position. Both of your arms are free to gently run your hands through each other’s hair, lightly stroke each other’s faces, arms, and back. This closeness also encourages intimate conversation and whispered sweet nothings._

This, in Phil’s not-so-humble opinion, might actually be perfection. He’s peaked. He’s thirty-four and he’s peaked. It’s all downhill from here.

Dan’s hand makes its lazy trail from the base of Phil’s spine all the way to the top. He’s using Phil’s shoulder as a place to rest his other hand while he reads his Kindle, but Phil doesn’t mind. So long as he keeps getting to use Dan as one of those body pillows, he lets a lot of things slide these days.

“I think we’ve cracked it,” Phil mutters into Dan’s clavicle. Dan hums, clearly not listening, fingertips running the length of his back again. Phil extracts one arm from where they’re holding Dan around the waist, and prods his side, desperate for attention. “Danny. Did you hear what I said?”

“Hm? Something about cracks,” Dan mumbles. Phil snorts, rests his chin on Dan’s chest so that he can look at him properly.

“You have so many chins from down here.”

Dan pulls his head back, squashes his face down so that the chins multiply right before Phil’s very eyes. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“Oh, definitely this one,” Phil replies, leaning up to poke his index finger into the soft folds of Dan’s neck. Dan smirks and returns his face to normal, then takes his eyes off his Kindle to look at Phil properly, removing the hand doing languid circuits of his back and using it instead to push his quiff back into formation.

“What were you saying, bub?”

“I was just thinking out loud,” Phil hums, laying his cheek against the left side of Dan’s chest so that he can feel the _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart against his jaw. “About how we’ve cracked it.”

“Cracked what?”

“This. The ultimate cuddle position,” Phil explains, pulling his arms tighter around Dan’s middle and snuggling closer to his body lying stretched out on the sofa. Dan just laughs, the scoffing sardonic one that comes out whenever he thinks Phil has said something particularly ridiculous.

“Y’know we don’t need to do this, right? We made the lounge big enough to take two three-seater sofas for a reason.”

“I know that, you heartless little troll,” Phil chuckles, moving his head until he reaches the tiny bump in Dan’s t-shirt, biting teasingly at his nipple through the fabric. He knows the reaction it’s going to receive before he does it; Dan wiggles his hips, lets out a stupid, sexual noise.

“Ooh, don’t threaten me with a good time, mister.” 

“Shut up. Seriously though, I really think this is peak tier cuddling position.”

“Go on then, as you’re clearly not going to let it go,” Dan sighs, wrapping his arms around Phil’s shoulders instead to anchor him in place. “Why is it peak tier?”

“Well,” Phil starts, voice muffled because his upper body is now being squished tighter into Dan. He manages to extract one hand from under Dan’s back and starts counting on his fingers. “One: these flailing tube-man arms of mine were made to hold things, and this way I get to hug you and you physically can’t escape. Two: you are a human furnace and I’m perpetually cold, so it’s like I’m snuggling a life-sized hot water bottle. Three: you are a big strong man and you make me feel like a small, dainty princess when you embrace me so tenderly like this.”

Dan laughs, loud and abrupt, so much so Phil can feel it erupt from the depths of Dan’s stomach. “You’re literally the same height and build as me. You’re wearing my clothes _right now_ because we’re the same size.” 

Phil feels the back of the t-shirt he’s wearing - the Harry Styles one with ‘treat people with kindness’ splashed across the front - getting tugged between Dan’s fingers. He grumbles and wriggles in Dan’s hold.

“Stop it, leave me to my dainty princess dreams.” 

“Alright, Peach.”

They lapse into comfortable, soft silence for a few minutes. Phil gazes around the living room - _their_ living room, the one they designed and planned together, in the house they helped form from the ground up. Their forest green picture wall, dotted with a variety of different sized gold frames that hold art prints and photos of the two of them on their many adventures. The coffee table, big enough to hold Dan’s collection of scented candles and beautiful hardback books that have never been opened. The wicker basket in the corner, unassuming and unnoticeable at first, but Phil knows it’s stuffed to the brim with blankets in case they want to construct a fort of soft furnishings, a nest only for them. Phil lets out a long, content sigh, nuzzles his cheek further against Dan’s chest.

“You’re right,” Dan mumbles above him, and Phil can feel the sleepy rumble of his voice against his skin. “This is pretty peak tier.”

“Told you so.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always lemme know your thoughts, I love hearing from you <3 and come say hi on tumblr! [strawberrysunflower](https://strawberry-sunflower.tumblr.com/)


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